Blood Brothers
by morning.chickenhead
Summary: Fiona and Adam talk about that forbidden, hidden "curse" - the period.  Fiona doesn't know yet about Adam's secret.  One-shot - nope, I lied! I added a second and third chapter!
1. Blood Brothers

Disclaimer: Unsurprisingly, I do not own Degrassi or anything Degrassi-related.

**Blood Brothers**

"Your room is very cozy," Fiona says warmly, smiling as she takes it all in: the band posters, the sports trophies, the video games, the fantasy books lining my bookshelves.

"Thanks," I say nervously, hoping there's no sign of Gracie around that I've forgotten about. No, that's more likely in the other parts of the house, and for that reason I purposely hustled Fiona directly to my room – Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200, Go Directly To Jail.

"Maybe next time we can go to my place," she continues, flopping herself down in a beanbag chair in the corner. "I mean, not that this isn't nice or anything. But, you know...no adults." She grins.

I perch anxiously on the edge of the bed, trying to look natural. "So...you live alone, right?"

"Yup." Fiona smiles proudly. "I mean, it gets lonely sometimes, but I like having my own space. You know?" She regards me seriously. "Sometimes I just feel like when other people are around, even my family, I can't be myself...at least without being judged."

"Yeah, I totally know what you mean," I reply, my heart quickening. "Living with my family, my bedroom is my sanctuary, but it's also my prison. It's the place I go to get away, but I also feel trapped here sometimes, like my true self isn't welcome in the other spaces of the house."

Fiona nods slowly, looking right into my eyes. "Wow. Yeah. I've felt that way. A lot." She pauses. "All my life people have called me a Drama Queen – rightfully so, at times. But it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, you know? When I'm alone I can express myself without fear of reprimand...or an unflattering picture in some tabloid." She giggles, but I see her eyes are kind of sad. I want to reach out and touch her...I want to make things better for her. I want to take care of her. She's so beautiful...she deserves someone who understands.

I'm caught up in my fantasy thoughts and don't realize that silence has enshrouded us for a few moments. She swallows suddenly and pops out of the beanbag chair. "Er, where's the washroom?" she asks.

"I'll show you," I say immediately, again hoping to avoid any illicit pictures of Gracie that might be hanging on the walls.

Fortunately the washroom is just a few feet from my bedroom door. Still, I usher her in, glancing around nervously.

"Thanks," she smiles, then quickly closes the door in my face. I stand there waiting, looking out the window, daydreaming. I have this beautiful girl in my house, in my bedroom; I think she likes me, and why shouldn't she? The nice guy, of course I'm the nice guy, because I'm the one who gets picked on, the one who's misunderstood. What else could I be but nice when others aren't nice to me?

And she's a bit ditzy at times, but I think it's an act, I'm sure it's an act, especially after what she just told me about being herself when she's alone. I have a gift to see beneath the surface...but I wonder, can she see beneath mine?...

I wonder when I should tell her, how I should tell her. I don't want to mislead her. But I'm a guy, pure and simple – so if she thinks I'm a guy, I'm not lying, right? I'm being my true self. Others only see me for the freaky girl-turned-guy; they only ever see that there's something not right with me. But now I can be my whole self and never waver. In fact, why am I being so nervous around her? There's nothing to worry about! She likes me for me!

I glance at the clock and realize it's been a full five minutes. She sure knows how to make a guy sweat – in pleasurable anticipation, of course. Finally my Fiona emerges, and I gather up all my courage to smile widely and sincerely at her beautiful face. But she greets my smile with just a sheepish, worried look. "I think I should go home now," she says, screwing up her expression in apology.

"Oh no, why?" I ask, aware I'm kind of whining.

She looks warily from side to side like a criminal about to divulge the location of her hide-out. Then she whispers, "I got my period."

Ohhhhhhh. "Well that's okay," I say immediately. "Do you need a pad or tampon?"

"Exactly," she replies. "And I'm guessing I might need to go home to get one."

"Oh, no, we have some under the sink," I say without thinking, then want to beat my head against the wall. She looks at me quizically and I rush to explain: "My mom."

"Oh! Okay then."

I duck into the washroom and open the cabinet door. "So what's your pleasure?"

"I think a pad would be best for now," she states frankly.

I smile and grab one, a medium-sized one. "You can take whatever you need, though," I say, leaving it on the counter.

"Thanks!" is her reply as she shuts the door once more.

Whew! That was a close one. It's weird, I think, because my period started today too. I remember reading that females who live together and are close in that way often have their feminine cycles in tune with each other. It's kind of a cool coincidence that Fiona and I should be bleeding at the same time. And I'm impressed with how calm she was about it. Her wariness was only for show, a little bit of the Drama Queen she permits shining through. So cute!

We don't talk as we return to my bedroom, but once she's arranged back in the beanbag chair and I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor before her, I ask, "So, comfortable now?"

"Very," she confirms. "Well, could be better, I suppose. Usually I use cloth pads because my skin is very sensitive. So hopefully the plastic won't bother me."

"Hm, I haven't heard of that before. That sounds cool."

Fiona throws back her head in laughter. "You say it so calmly and coolly, Adam. I wouldn't expect you to have heard of it; what guy takes any time to know anything about what life is like for girls?"

I nod. "I know, I know. I just...care, I guess. Um, maybe you should go home if you think that this pad might bother you...Don't worry, I'd understand."

"No, it's okay," she says. "At least for now. I'll let you know if I need to go. But I like being here talking with you."

My heart flutters. "Me too," I say quietly.

After a moment she continues on the previous topic. "Yeah, most guys really couldn't understand what it's like to have your period. Not that they even try."

"I've heard my brother say he thinks it's disgusting," I chime in, remembering the many times he said it directly to me.

Fiona looks straight at me. "And what do you think, Adam?"

I glance away and speak only slowly when I do speak. "I think...maybe...I think some guys could understand. If a girl is open about it then it might make the guy more comfortable. If she was willing to help him understand, then maybe he would be willing to learn." I cringe inwardly as I realize I'm actually talking about me telling her and helping her understand about my...situation.

"And are you willing to learn?" Her questions are always so direct and intense!

I gulp. "I'll listen to anything you want to share with me, Fiona." Then without warning I take the plunge. "But I already understand more than you know."

She cocks her head. "Oh? How is that?"

Can't she hear my heart beating to get out of my chest? It's practically screaming for release! Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to tell her? But I'd already decided I wouldn't, that I was being my true self...

_But my true self is a guy in a girl's body._ Yes, I feel like I should have a guy's body and it brings a crazy new meaning to "sexually frustrated." But the fact is I don't have a guy's body. This girl's body is a part of me even if I don't like it; it's a part of me for now. And eventually it will be this body that I alter; I won't be getting a whole new body, and I'll still have my female parts, to a degree. They'll just be changed. If I really like her and expect this to go somewhere, I have to be open with her...open, direct, intense. _Like she is with me._

"You might want to sit down for this..."

She smiles and gestures, demonstrating that she's already comfortably seated.

"Oh...right..." Direct, Adam! Direct!

I take a deep breath and hold it there. Then I spew out the words as I exhale: "I understand because I have a period right now."

Pink creeps into Fiona's cheeks, but otherwise her light-hearted expression doesn't change. "Tell me what you mean?" she ventures.

"I guess I'll give you the labels," I say, looking away again. "I'm a female-to-male pre-op trans person. A guy in a girl's body. Some say a freak. Actually, far too many say a freak."

Fiona perfectly keeps her cool as she reaches out and puts a long-fingered hand on what now seems like my tiny and thin, all-too-feminine forearm. "You were worried about telling me this, weren't you, Adam?"

"Well yes, of course..." I trail off.

"Sweetie, I'm from New York. Don't you think I've seen it all?"

"Um..." Now I feel bad for thinking she might not accept me!

"I've seen a lot, anyway, and I know one thing for sure: there is no normal. I guess everyone's a freak in their own way. I know I am. And I'm okay with it. My question for you is: are _you_ okay with you?"

Tears spring to my eyes and I feel her hand gripping me now. As the wetness takes to my cheeks Fiona draws me into a hug. Should I feel embarrassed when my snot hits her shoulder or will she be okay with that too? I almost laugh. But instead I launch into a tear-stained speech that's been waiting to get out.

"It's just so hard, because...the answer is no, I'm not okay with myself...How can I love myself when I'm in the wrong body? And how can I love myself when everyone else hates me? My mom even hates me, she hates Adam; I know she's trying, but it's Gracie she loves in her heart; and _God_, what a blow to my ego that the only reason I scrape by at school without having any _death-threats_ followed through with is because I have an older brother who is bigger and stronger than me to protect me. I'm supposed to be a _man_, but I can't even protect myself, I can't even fight my own battles! And in my underwear I'm bleeding all over the place; I'm just a girl with a dirty curse, but even worse, I'm a girl who's a guy inside."

Fiona can only rub my back sympathetically as my sobs rack my cold body against her warm body. She remains silent and lets me finish crying, which takes a good five minutes. Finally I pull back from her hug and wipe my eyes. I do laugh a little in relief when I see the concerned look on her face, and she half-smiles in return.

"Adam," she says softly, "I'm not sure there's much I can say to make you feel better, but I'll give you my girl-in-girl's-body perspective, and maybe it will help you to see things from a different point of view."

I nod, sniffling and still wiping my face off to try to regain some dignity.

"First of all, your period is not a curse. Even if you are a boy. Have you heard of Thomas Beatie?"

I shake my head.

"He's the world's first transgendered man to give birth to a child. And this happened just recently."

"You mean he's FTM? Post-op? And he still gave birth?"

Fiona nods. "Yeah. Of course. How special is that? He can be the man he wants to be, but still experience a very sacred part of himself from the parts of his female body."

"But he must have had a male partner, then...And I...well, I like girls." I blush hotly.

She nods again with complete composure. "He actually has a wife. They chose to go with artificial insemination."

I sit back against the bed and take it all in. I vaguely hear Fiona talking in the background...

"See, you can love yourself for all the parts of you. You may not have all the parts you want to have yet, but you're going to be so full, so complete – you're going to be a full-blown man with the good fortune of being female as well. And as for not thinking you're 'man' enough, well what could be stronger than going through a cycle of cart-wheeling emotions month after month? In fact, if you just got your period and now you're letting loose all your emotions, that's probably _because _of your cycle that you can have so much release. Would you really want to be a man and have those emotions so difficult to get out? And in Thomas's case, what could possibly be stronger than giving birth? And furthermore –"

Smiling hard, I shake my head at her unending kindness, and cut her off. Time to be more direct than ever. "Fiona, do you like girls?"

Finally I think I've caught her off guard. The pink in her face rises to red. And she takes a very long time before answering cautiously.

"I think I could like girls...but for whatever you want to call yourself, Adam, I do like you."

And this time her eyes are glistening with tears as I reach forward and grab her hands, then pull her into a hug as we both stand on our knees, facing each other. I dare to pat her soft and sweet-smelling hair. And as we hold each other tight, I murmur in Fiona's ear, "I know we said we can be ourselves mostly when we're alone. But I really want to be myself with you."


	2. Mission Accessible

**Mission Accessible**

_Fiona's on a mission to make a change at Degrassi for Adam's sake. Sequel to __**Blood Brothers**__. (I decided to start on a series of one-shots under the title __**Blood Brothers**__ since there seemed to be a lot of interest in the first one. Thanks for all your great reviews! They really motivate me.)_

I'm just about to shut my locker door when who but the most beautiful girl on earth should bound up to me and slam it shut with a smooth swoop of one long, tender arm.

"_I_ have a present for you!" Fiona cries excitedly.

"You do?" I ask quietly. Inside my heart is bursting that she is paying me this special attention, but my brain has locked me down in protective mode: I glance around warily to make sure no one is on a mission to hassle Fiona – my girl...? – for giving The Freak the time of day.

Fortunately, no one seems to be paying attention. Good. The more they're in their own little worlds the more chance I'll have to pursue the new me – the one who will be the greatest, awesomest, bestest person for none other than Fiona Coyne.

Certain of our safety now, I'm able to relax. "What is it?" I ask with a little grin on my face.

Obviously my smile's modesty doesn't fool Fiona. "Aha!" she practically shouts. "You want it! You're excited! You're hanging on the edge of your seat!"

"Flying by the seat of my pants?" I add questioningly.

"Hmm, yep, that sounds about right," she agrees. "But _I'm_ not going to tell you what it is yet!"

"What?" I wheedle. "Okay, fine. But I get to play twenty questions with you to figure out what it is. And I always win at twenty questions."

"Okay, prove it," challenges Fiona, grabbing my wrist and walking down the hall with me in tow. I feel for a moment that I have to run to catch up with her – the little boy chasing anxiously after his baby-sitter – but then she slows. "Sorry!" she states more seriously. "I was rushing a bit, wasn't I? I'm just so excited! I'm about to burst!"

"Well burst then, girl," I say to her. "Save me the bother of slaughtering you at twenty questions."

"Nah, I wouldn't want to ruin the satisfaction for you. Go ahead! Begin."

And this time, hand-in-hand, we weave slowly down the hall as I start shooting my questions.

"Is it...something related to school?"

"Nope! Not even a little bit."

"Is it...something to use outdoors?"

"Outdoors or in," she replies, a big smile on her face. "Outdoors _and _in!"

"Hmm. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"No, you think I could sneak something bigger than a breadbox past security?"

"So it's something you'd need to hide from the security people. Wow. That sounds intense."

"Phrase it as a question," Fiona commands.

I laugh. "I'll just presume the intensity from your unfortunate table-talking. Next question: Is it something you made?"

Fiona rolls her eyes. "Yes! How did you guess? You're starting on question six, by the way. Only fifteen more, including this one."

"I'll have it in ten," I bet.

"We'll see. What's your next question?"

I stop short, realizing Fiona is about to head into the girls' washroom. She's still holding my hand. "Um, Fi," I say, nodding to the picture on the door. "You don't see me wearing a skirt, do you?"

"Oh, come on," she whines. "You can come in."

Darn it, darn it, darn it! I was hoping she was just about to drag me in there by mistake. But she was doing it on purpose! Forget darn it; F*CK! I _knew_ my "situation" would get in the way of perfection. Now I'm going to have to have an argument with her about why I can't go in the girls' washroom, and she'll be hurt, and I'll be pissed, and –

"No, Fiona, I can't," I say gravely, retrieving my hand from hers and standing my ground. "I'm a guy. I go in the guy's washroom."

"I'm sorry, Adam," she immediately apologizes, her cheeks reddening. "I wasn't trying to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do, something that doesn't...mesh with your identity. I just want...I mean, I just wish I could have the pleasure of your company in there."

"Fiona," I say, smiling with a wave of relief at her understanding, "I would _love_ to hold your hand while you pee. Believe me, I would. But you're right, I can't compromise my identity to do it."

"Well, I guess I could sneak into the guys' washroom," she suggests slyly.

I chuckle. "Sounds hot," I admit. "But I wouldn't want you to get in trouble..." I point at one of the video cameras peeking at us from the ceiling. "What with the crack-down and all, I'm not sure Simpson would appreciate anyone – well, anyone except me, that is – challenging their gender identity."

Fiona bites her lip. "It seems kind of stupid that there's not a washroom _anyone_ can go into," she sighs. "Malls have family washrooms, for instance, and swimming pools have family changerooms. It doesn't matter what you are when you go in those."

"Well, you ought to be well-intentioned to go in there," I suggest, then explain: "I'm guessing that the 'families' that go in those wouldn't want any old creepy individual coming in."

She gives a small smile, obviously still deep in thought, too serious to take in the joke. Then she proves me wrong. "No, no, you're right. Even the word 'family' suggests a particular identity, i.e. you're supposed to have a kid. We don't have a kid, so that wouldn't work."

People are beginning to peer curiously at us as they trickle in and out of the girls' washroom. It's frankly making me nervous. "I have an idea," I say, hoping to move our philosophical discussion elsewhere. "I do have a key to the handicapped washroom. There's no reason we couldn't go in there together."

"The 'handicapped' washroom?" Fiona explodes, half-laughing. "That's an even worse label!"

"I know," I agree readily. "I never use it. I always use the guys' washroom. But Simpson gave me the key to use it 'for my own safety' or whatever." I grimace, remembering a couple of episodes taking place in the guys' washroom that _had_ left me invariably unhappy.

"Not even mentioning how the segregating of so-called 'handicapped' people must make them feel, I really think there should be a gender-neutral washroom in this hole," Fiona says determinedly. "In fact, I'm going to Simpson right now and demanding one be instituted."

"I don't think that's necessary..." I mumble, feeling embarrassed that she's making such a big deal out of this, but at the same time proud that she's making such a big deal about me.

"Pish tosh!" she cries, hurrying toward the office even as the bell rings.

"But didn't you have to pee?" I call after her half-heartedly. I sigh, and trail slowly after her, unable to contain a giggle as I do.

When I arrive at the office, Fiona has already burst into Simpson's. I try to blend into the background as I peek my nose around the doorframe to observe their conversation.

"I think you know that cavorting between the sexes is the last thing I want right now," Simpson is saying.

"You're right, Mr. Simpson," she confesses bravely. "I do want to be able to go into a washroom with my...special friend." She spins her head around and tosses me a wink. How did she know I was here? Sometimes that girl is like magic to me...

"But," she continues loudly, "this is about something more than just what _I _want. This is about upholding a principle."

"I get the feeling you're not going to say 'upholding a Principal Simpson'?" he inquires meekly.

Fiona barrels on, not even acknowledging his joking comment. "Aren't we beyond the age of segregation of the sexes? In fact, aren't we beyond the age of having a gender identity flung at you left, right, and centre from the moment you're conceived? There are plenty of people who don't feel they fit into 'skirt' or 'pants,' as suggested by those demeaning stick figures on the washroom doors."

I know Fiona fits very, very well into both skirts and pants...

"Not only that, but what is with calling the 'handicapped' washroom 'handicapped'? And why do you need a key to get in?" Fiona demands. "What if I want some privacy? What if I feel like peeing standing up?"

Simpson starts at these words, which downright make me want to laugh out loud. I cover my mouth with my hands and keep watching.

"Well strangely enough," he replies, "you won't get any privacy if you're peeing upright in a urinal, which has no _locking stall_ around it. And you're also not at a private country club school anymore, Miss Coyne. You're at an under-funded public school. We can't just wave a wand and make one student's wishes come true."

"But you can spend a tidy little sum on the equally as privacy-invading video cameras, metal detectors, and security guards."

Simpson sighs, evidently not willing to go down that road where he would have to question his decisions about upping Degrassi's security alert to "Code Red." "I think I'm getting your point," he concedes. "Would it satisfy you if we re-name the handicapped washroom? Something that fits both special needs students and students who are questioning their gender identity?"

"I think 'Gender-Accessible' would be acceptable," Fiona suggests, sending me a thumbs-up behind her back.

"Fine. 'Gender-Accessible' it is. I'll order the sign today." He's just turning back to his work in an effort to dismiss her when he suddenly adds, "But I'm not abolishing the key. Students will have to apply to me as they have had to in the past if they wish to use the Gender-Accessible-Acceptable-Whatever washroom. I don't want kids going in there and smoking up..."

And he's still muttering under his breath when Fiona backs out the door and grabs my hand in victory. We dissolve into giggles as we run out into the hallway together.

"I did it!" she cries. "I can't believe I did it!"

Suddenly I'm seeing this project of Fiona's in a different light. I know she did it for me on some level – and in terms of that it's better than any other gift she could give me – but the sparkle in her eyes tells me there's more to it. "You did awesome, Fi," I say, giving her back a little caress. "But why was this so important to you? I'm not asking to judge, I'm just curious."

"You can tell there was more to it, can't you," she says, screwing up her lips and nodding. "Well, I do care about it. I've been thinking so much about the boundaries we put up in our lives, ever since we talked yesterday. And you know what? Maybe I don't just want to be a 'skirt' either. And I definitely want to spend as much time with you as possible – even the time when I have to go to the washroom." She smiles coyly. "So I ran with it. But it was also important to me to remind myself that I have the power to affect change in a positive way. My last meeting with Simpson was...less than impressive." I look at her questioningly. "Tell you later," she says, shaking her head. "But anyway, I don't want to sit on my ass and just passively accept the things I don't like about the world. Especially," she continues, "when there's one thing I really really do like about the world."

I blush and look away, thinking, wondering, hoping that she's talking about me. That's when I notice the police officer headed our way. No hall pass, no excuse; we're going to get busted.

Fiona's seen him, too, and she's already running off toward her classroom. I turn to flee as well, and see out of the corner of my eye as I do, that indeed she was talking about me. She's pointing straight at me and grinning madly. "It's you," she mouths.

See if I can get to class before I melt!


	3. Twenty Questions Continued

**Twenty Questions...Continued**

_Fiona gives her present to Adam and the two talk about Fiona's earlier statement that she doesn't want a physical relationship right now._

I don't see Fiona again until lunch. I see her tall, shiny head of curls over the crowd, but I pretend to be in my own little world and let her sneak up behind me to greet me. How satisfying to reassure myself that she wants me as much as I want her.

"Do you have your key to the...drum-roll, please?...Gender-Accessible washroom?" she asks, letting her arm dangle around my shoulders.

"Yep." I pat one of the pockets in my too-big Men's Small Degrassi-monogrammed blazer. "It's always accessible right here."

She giggles and dips her fingers in to retrieve it. "Okay, let's go!"

And we're off. I'm kind of hungry, to be sure, but whatever Fiona has in store for me will be infinitely more satiating then any food. Besides, my next question was going to be "Is it edible?" She said she made it, after all. Maybe we'd soon enough be lolling in her precious Gender-Accessible washroom, the spacious square room, me perched on the counter and her seated atop the toilet lid, laughing and licking powdered sugar from our fingers as we gobble her home-made –

"Here we are! So do you want to finish our little game?" she asks as she holds the door open for me and I duck inside.

I smile. "I'm one step ahead of you. Is it edible?"

"Mmmm, nope!" she says. I've imagined this all wrong, though. She's already bounced up on to the counter, fitting her bum right into the sink and swinging her legs back and forth. I want to tremble at the sight. I fear momentarily that such close-quarters with her beautiful self and body will make me lose my touch at good ol' Twenty Questions.

I force myself to focus. "Okay, you made it but it's not food...is it a piece of artwork?"

"I'd say so," Fiona replies in mock modesty.

"Is it useful?"

"Very." She swings her legs up on to the counter and hugs her knees to her chest as she awaits my next hopefully clever question.

"Do you carry it with you at all times?"

"Pretty much..." she answers cautiously.

"Is it something you wear?" I ask.

"Yes!"

The wheels in my brain are turning. Maybe she had a specific reason for bringing me to a washroom to give it to me. My thoughts turn to yesterday, and –

"Is it a cloth pad?" I ask suddenly, excited, intrigued, embarrassed, and feeling very, very hot.

With that, Fiona leaps down from the counter, landing smoothly on both feet. She dips into her purse. "I owe you an apology," she says smilingly. "You are the master of Twenty Questions...or should I say 'Ten Questions'?"

"Yep, I always win..." But I trail off, distracted as she opens her hands to reveal the object of our banter. "Wow, you made this?" I step forward and take the pad from her, turning it over in admiration. It's shaped like a regular pad, with wings on the sides to be held together with a tiny silver snap. It feels so soft in my hands, kind of like I would imagine a cloud to feel. But it's the design that really makes me smile. The top side is green with delicate orange stitching, and on the back, the material boasts a picture of Princess Peach giving a blushing Mario a kiss on the cheek.

"This is beautiful, Fiona." I give her a meaningful look. "Thank you."

She nods eagerly. "Put it on!"

"Right...now?" I ask, my breath catching in my throat.

"Well, of course!" she encourages. "There are no secrets between us."

I gulp. I'm suddenly feeling very shy. The speech Fiona gave me yesterday about loving myself for myself is swirling in my brain, but I'm not quite convinced. The years of disliking my body haven't exactly given me stable ground from which to easily share my body with others – even the girl I like.

"Fiona," I say slowly, clutching her sweet gift to my chest to show that I really love it despite my hesitation to put it on right here and now, "remember how you said you're not looking for anything physical right now?"

She doesn't answer directly, just says abstractedly, "That's question eleven, sweetie. Choose your words wisely," as she begins to pace about the room.

I want to stuff a sock in my mouth and just do what she's asked of me, put the pad on and share myself with her, but my feet feel as though they're mired in mud. I can't do anything but continue. "Well, I feel like that, too. At least for right now. I know we kind of joked earlier about holding hands in the washroom, et cetera, but for me to show that much of myself right now...it's just too much. Maybe we have different definitions of what being physical means?" I just feel sick to my stomach for saying all this. And I realize somewhere underneath that even as I speak I feel the opposite, that I would love to strip down right this minute and make sweet love to her. Life just isn't that easy, though...

"Question twelve. Maybe we do. Ask me what I _don't_ want." Her expression is very serious. And she's still pacing.

My mind switches gears as I get the feeling she's about to reveal something to me that I won't want to hear. Something that's happened to her. Something I won't be able to stand thinking about... "What don't you want?" I say, shivering.

"Hmm, well, y'know, I really don't want to be beaten..." She counts on her fingers as she talks. "And, hmm, another thing is, I don't think I really want to be forced into sex..." And still she paces, as I shrink more and more into myself, a safer thing to do than what I want to do, which is to explode with anger and hatred that she ever had to experience these horrible things she lists so casually. "And I don't want any man touching me whom I haven't given express permission to..." She swivels to look at me. "Does this all sound right to you?"

I give her a weak smile. "That's question number one for you."

Detached, she sinks to the floor and buries her face in her hands.

I kneel beside her and put my arm around her back. "Do you want to talk about it?" I murmur, fearing she'll say yes, or merely launch into a far too detailed diatribe that my poor heart won't be able to handle.

"He...he...he..." she sobs, now all but lying prostrate on the floor, kicking her feet and beating her fists against the tiles. "Everyone thinks it should be so easy!" she shouts. "He got his come-uppance and I'm a strong and confident young lady. Well let me tell you that is anything but closure! It's too simple. Why am I still hurting inside?"

I feel my heart breaking like an egg, its sad and sticky goop oozing out the bottom and spreading all the way to my toes. But it's my turn to let her cry, and I'm lying beside her on the floor – cold, dirty, and immensely uncomfortable – but not even caring about that, just wanting to give her everything I have to give.

As her weeping begins to die down, she shifts to a sitting position and shakes out her hands. "Ick," she says between sniffles.

Dirty as they are, I take her hands in mine and hold them tight as I sit and face her. "Fiona, you've told me what you don't want. And you can talk about it any time. But for now, can you tell me one thing? What is it you _do_ want to help you ease your pain? Whatever it is, I'll do my best to give it to you."

"That's question nineteen between the two of us," she points out, attempting a pathetic smile through the tears.

"Tell me," I say, leaning a bit closer.

She sighs deeply. "I want to feel better about myself. I want to feel good and in control. I want my body to heal. I want any number of things...I'm just not sure how to get them."

"Well what do you _think_ it might look like for you to feel in control and for you to heal? I'm sure you have some ideas," I say sincerely.

"I don't think that having zero physical relationship is the best answer," she confesses after a pause. "I think I need to be held, kissed, caressed; honoured and respected with a touch that's gentle and true. I think that to see that my body can be treated right by someone very caring would help me start to feel better." She looks at me appealingly. "But I want to be able to give the same things back. I want a chance to make him feel better about his body, too. Like this morning, realizing that I can do something good in the moment I feel passion about it, I think it will help me heal if I can care enough about someone to love their body, too."

"That's more than fair," I whisper, and moving to the toilet, I unfasten my pristinely ironed pants and in one fell swoop, pull them and my underwear down.

"I like your briefs," she giggles. "Do you think Princess Peach will fit in there?"

"Just get rid of that old thing..." I say, ripping out the plastic pad and depositing it in the disposal. "Yup, I think it will fit charmingly." And with a snap I secure Mario and the princess right where they belong.

Before I can get up, Fiona is standing before me, a smile on her face. "You have a beautiful body," she breathes, leaning down so her face is just inches from mine.

"And you have a beautiful heart," I reply. I reach up and draw her face to mine for a soft, slow kiss of full and desirous lips.

When finally we let go, Fiona straightens up and removes the cricks from her neck as I quickly wipe and return my pants to their original position. It feels like heaven between my legs to have something so soft and sweet there, designed and crafted by Fiona.

Toilet flushed, door unlocked, and lights off, we leave the washroom in the silence of two people who have just shared something very unique and special. But before we part, Fiona says to me very seriously, "Can we play twenty questions again sometime?"


	4. Home is Where the Heart is

**Home is Where the Heart is**

_Adam walks Fiona home and she invites him in for a drink. Where will their conversations lead them now?_**  
**

"So this is where you live," I say in awe as Fiona leads me in the front door to her apartment. The place is right out of a magazine. But lifesize, with a lifesized dose of intimidation.

She shrugs. "Yeah. It's all right."

"I'm almost afraid to sit on this couch," I continue, smoothing my hand over the plush, and obviously expensive, cushions.

"Why, because you might bleed through?" she teases.

I gulp. Hadn't thought of that. Shit. "Uh, yeah."

Fiona laughs whole-heartedly, and swings her arm around my shoulder. "Let me grab you a drink. And don't worry about the couch. It's been through a lot."

"It looks immaculate," I protest, and plop myself on the wood-panelled floor.

"A little champagne, good sir?" she calls from what I presume must be the kitchen.

"Are you kidding?"

She reappears in the archway leading to the next room. "Not at all. I'd say our newfound friendship requires a little celebration. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course, but –"

"Tut, tut!" And before I know it, a glass of champagne is flourished before me. I hold stem of the flute awkwardly, feeling as though my hands are as big as an ape's. The glass perched in Fiona's hand looks so natural it might have been attached to her at birth. This thought makes me blush with shame. It sounds mean. Like silver spoon in the mouth. Which I'm sure someone at some point has said to this fine young lady, by someone who didn't see her for so much more than her parents' money and privilege. Not like me. Not like how I see her.

Still, being in this model flat is slightly more than out of the ordinary for Plain Jane...Plain Dwayne?...me. I sip quietly at the bubbles until Fiona speaks up. She relates light-heartedly a story of how a cousin once told her that "queer" means when a guy has boobs or a girl has balls. And then launches into a tirade against factory-farmed animals that are stuffed with hormones that in some cases have been known to make guys "queer" as such.

I titter a little. But then I say: "You know, Fiona, we can talk about something other than anything related to the whole trans thing. Queerness, our periods, force-fed chickens...there's got to be something else we have in common."

"You're right, you're right, you're right," she quickly replies. "So do you think it's okay for a girl to have sex while she's bleeding?"

I roll my eyes, wanting to slam down the champagne flute for a moment. But I quickly check myself and just place it gently on a marble coaster seated on the coffee table. "Fi – this is what I was talking about. Something else, please?"

"Why, isn't it okay?" she asks with a bit of a whine. "Honestly, Adam, you're not just the first _guy_ I could talk to about these things. I've never really talked about them to girls, either! When I first got my period, I was so excited to tell my best friends at the time. I spilled the news as soon as I got to school. But one said, 'God, what is wrong with you; I've had mine for two years already' and the other told me to keep it in my pants. And no one laughed harder than my sworn enemy – also a girl – when I bled through for the first time."

I almost choke on my current sip of champagne. "_First _time?" I repeat.

"Well, yeah, it happened a couple of times," she admits. "That's partly where the whole Drama Queen thing comes from. People started thinking I did it on purpose, for attention. Especially after the time I just go so fed up that I didn't even bother to run and hide and change my clothes. It was just a little brown spot, nothing big and red and sopping. But my reputation would never be the same..."

I laughed, but got the feeling she was bending the truth a little. "Fiona, you're incorrigible," I say, to please her.

"It was the talk of the Women's Club for months. So you see, to me it feels like periods are something girls use against each other. Or maybe some of them just hate their own period so much that they hate other girls for having them, too. So, you wanted to talk about something else?"

I did, but the implications of the question she had asked me right after I requested she change the subject are starting to dawn on me: _do you think it's okay for a girl to have sex while she's bleeding?_ Was she...coming on to me? Like, in a big way?

"Whatever you want," I mumble vaguely, wiping what feels like a trace of sweat off my forehead.

And now she's off and chattering about her family's lakeside cottage, which by the sounds of it is more likely an immodest mansion, and all I can think is, _Wow! How did this happen? One day we're barely friends, and the next...likely lovers...? _I swoon at the thought.

Then I interrupt. "Yeah, I think it's more than okay."

"What?"

"You asked me, do you think it's okay for a girl to have sex while she's bleeding. So I said, yeah, it's more than okay."

"Oh...oh! We're back on that." I notice that Fiona's second glass is drained and mine is still full from the first go-round. She leans forward and droops her head upside-down right beside mine. "Most guys wouldn't think so," she points out, drawing a finger along the curve of my chin.

I shiver in response. "I'm not...most guys..." I trail off.

"So...messy!, they'd say," she declares, snapping her head back upside-right and pouring herself another glass. "So...icky. Revolting. Unnatural. But we know otherwise, don't we?" She lowers her voice at these last words, as though sharing a big secret.

And maybe it is a big secret. My body is absolutely pulsing, wanting her. My only hesitation now is the alcohol that she's poured down her hatch; could it be affecting what she's saying?

"You've been drinking..." I point out pathetically.

"Psssh!" she replies, then corrects me. "_We've_ been celebrating! Now hold me, won't you dear?" And as she splays her body across mine, head over my shoulder, and her once-more empty champagne flute rolls away, I don't know whether to be delighted or concerned.

When I hear the slight snore, I know. Concerned. She's out.

I sigh. I guess Fiona has her own demons, too. But I don't care. I'm willing to take on anything, for her. But will she do the same for me, or am I just a novelty? I fear the latter, thinking of how she can't stop talking about our shared periods, etc. But she is a girl, after all, and I'm a guy, and maybe for a girl she's just into that. Fine, I can be, too. Like I said. I'll take on anything. As long as it's not just an indication that I'm a play-thing for her.

My thoughts are interrupted when the beautiful woman in my arms stirs. "Adam..." comes the little groan of a voice.

"I'm here," I reply.

"Thanks for walking me home."


	5. Bleed Free

**Bleed Free**

_Adam puts a drunk Fiona to bed. But will he stay or go?_

I can't help but feel my manly ego dent a little as I struggle to support the dead-weight of a semi-conscious Fiona on my shoulder. Being so tiny, it's like, how could I ever be a real man? I can't even lift my beautiful girl in a pair of strong arms to carry her over the threshold...

"Over the threshold?" Right. Because I'll so be able to de-flower her without a dick. The thought makes me almost shake with rage. _Why was I born this way?..._

Anyway, "de-flower her?" Yeah, I'm sure she'd appreciate that terminology. And who's to say she hasn't been "de-flowered" already? Ohhhhh, God, maybe it was by that guy, whoever she was talking about earlier. Did he full-on _rape_ her? The thought puts me beyond just shaking with rage. Whatever happened to her, that's probably why she's a dead-weight on my shoulder right this moment, instead of wrapped tight in my arms, fully aware and fully in love, just cuddling and visiting and laughing. This time my anger inhabits every cell of my body. And those tears welling in my eyes, blurring the path to Fiona's room?: more proof of feminine weakness, though I get the feeling Fiona wouldn't have me any other way.

She's mumbling incoherently as I attempt to hoist her up on to the fluffiness of the canopy bed. It doesn't help that the mattress comes up to my chest. Fiona wriggles, then flails, a fish out of water, trying to claw her way up the blankets to the bed.

"Um, Fi..."

And she giggles with glee as the comforter gives way and she and it land in a heap on the carpet beside the bed. "I built a fort!" she declares.

I roll her out of the comforter and drag her to a wobbly standing position. "Okay, we can do this." Getting the job done eventually requires me to get my shoulder under her, uh, _seat, _and push with all my might. I swear I'm a cartoon with my feet and legs running so fast and hard against a brick wall that they appear to be nothing but a blurred spinning wheel.

But it works. With me under her, and her sad yet slightly humorous clawing motions, we manage to propel her to the top of the would-be Mt. Everest. I'm so exhausted, mostly emotionally I think, that I collapse, my back against the bed. I realize the comforter is still on the floor and I toss it up behind me to the once-more snoring Fiona. I know the sweet and good thing to do would be to get up and tuck her into its folds so soundly. But I just need a moment by myself right now.

But my mind is full of self-loathing and uncertainty, and then even those failed attempts at peace and meditation are interrupted by a sudden thought. "Oh! Fiona!" I leap up and shake her gently by the shoulders. She continues to snooze. "Fi! Wake up!"

"Mmmm?"

"Um, I just thought of something, Fi. Do you need to...change your, you know, _pad_ before you drift off to dream-land?"

Her response is certainly not helpful in anyway. "Why am I wearing so many clothes?"

Okay, it could be helpful in some way, I suppose...And the images in my head that have been swimming so forcefully toward my consciously for weeks now – the images of her perfect naked body – erupt in a fit of passion that I quickly tamp out of my mind but still feel throbbing down below.

"Fi. Your pad."

"Can you undress me?" she murmurs, flopping her head toward me.

"But...your pad."

"Are you coming to bed or not?" she demands gently, waving her hand out towards me.

"Well I _know_ I need to change my pad before I retire for a comfortable evening." I know I can't stay anyway, but maybe this will get my point across. What would my parents say if their precious little Gracie was gone for a romantic, sexy night away?

"Don't be silly," she says quietly, rolling over and pulling the comforter over her with weak, reaching hands. "I have special sheets for this time. Don't need anything at all...Undress me now, please?"

I gulp. Then again, Fiona's just a girl...And Gracie's gone for sleepovers before. Yes, it's just a sleepover! A girls' night. A slumber party?

"Just let me make a quick phone call," I say, although I think she's sleeping again.

In the hallway, I talk quickly and quietly.

"Mom, I'm staying at a friend's tonight."

Pause.

"Yes, _she's_ very nice." Nicer than nice.

"Yes, _her_ parents are here." Not.

"Okay, see you soon." Sooner...or later.


End file.
